


The Italian Vice

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Falling out, Friendship, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Major Character Injury, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Reconciliation, mention of suicide (OC)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 08:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4341542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I started writing this months ago for a kinkmeme prompt I've since lost the link to, but it was basically "d'Artagnan finds out about the OT3 and is not cool with it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Italian Vice

**Author's Note:**

> "The Italian vice" – 17th century French slang for male homosexuality.

"Have you heard the news?" Aramis' expression was grim as he entered the room.

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan looked up enquiringly and shook their heads.

"The son of the Duc de Lorraine hanged himself last night." 

Athos and Porthos gave immediate murmurs of regret, whilst d'Artagnan looked blank but sympathetic.

"I'm sorry. Was he a friend of yours?"

"No, we never met," Aramis said, helping himself to a drink and joining them at the table.

"Oh." D'Artagnan's look of confusion deepened. "What happened?"

"It has been a matter of some scandal at court lately." Aramis hesitated. "He was discovered to be having - relations, with a member of his father's estate staff."

"Got somebody pregnant did he?" d'Artagnan guessed, thinking that committing suicide was a rather drastic way of avoiding your responsibilities.

The others exchanged a glance, and it was Athos who answered.

"No, you misunderstand. It was with another man."

D'Artagnan looked shocked, and then faintly revolted. "Oh. I see."

"Half the time these things go unspoken of," Aramis sighed. "Perhaps if Philippe had been more discreet, or chosen a member of his own class it would never of come to this. It seems he killed himself to spare his family the shame of a trial."

"Best thing, perhaps," d'Artagnan muttered. Aramis looked sharply at him.

"The man has damned himself d'Artagnan. For honour." He spat the word as if it tasted bad.

"Surely he was already damned," d'Artagnan argued.

Aramis bridled. "I refuse to believe love of any kind is capable of damning someone."

"Was it love though, what they were doing?" d'Artagnan asked with a twisted grimace. "Unnatural, you have to agree."

Before Aramis could respond, Athos had raised his hand. "D'Artagnan. Aramis. I suggest you change the subject before one of you says something he has cause to regret."

D'Artagnan flushed, he had not been a Musketeer for so long that a rebuke from Athos did not sting. But to his surprise Athos' heavy gaze was on Aramis, and the other man turned away first.

A little uncomfortable with the thought he had caused discord amongst his friends, d'Artagnan shortly found an excuse to depart.

When he'd gone, Porthos was the first to speak. "Well. That's one fantasy I guess I won't be having again, if he feels like that about it."

"Porthos!" Athos looked at him reprovingly, and he grinned.

"Tell me you haven't thought about it. I dare you."

Athos didn't dignify this with a response, but the corner of his mouth twitched a little as if pulled by thread.

Aramis sighed. "Fantasies aside, I had hoped that perhaps one day we might confide in him."

Athos shook his head. "If recent events have taught us one thing it's that we are playing a dangerous game, and one I strongly suggest we keep to ourselves."

The others nodded soberly, but there were smiles exchanged too, in the warm knowledge that they were of one mind, and one heart. 

\--

Things might have continued without incident, were it not for the faulty door latch. The three of them had always taken extreme care never to display any more affection in public than might be deemed proper, but in private all bets were off. 

Returning from a successful mission one afternoon and buoyed up on adrenaline, Aramis and Porthos had hastened to Porthos' quarters and slammed the door behind them, shoving the bolt safely across before falling into each other's arms. 

Unfortunately, neither of them noticed that the bracket taking the bolt had become loose, and a few minutes later when d'Artagnan knocked and pushed the door without waiting for an answer it fell off, letting the door swing open.

The sight that met his eyes could have been more compromising, but only if both men had been naked. As it was, they were locked in a passionate clinch, and d'Artagnan stared at them in shock.

The first thought that crossed his mind was that this was a joke at his expense, but their genuinely horrified expressions told him that was not the case.

"What the hell are you doing?" d'Artagnan asked hoarsely.

Porthos hung his head in contrition, but Aramis glared back at him with a sudden flare of indignant and humiliated anger. "We love each other," he snapped. "And it is no concern of yours."

D'Artagnan blanched, and turned on his heel and marched out. In the passage outside he ran straight into Athos, who reached out to him in concern. 

"Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

D'Artagnan stared at him, wide eyed and flustered. "You're not going to Porthos' room are you? You don't want to go in there - ah, I mean - they're not - they're not there, no point in you going in."

"Then I will wait for them," Athos replied, looking at him curiously. "Are you sure you're okay?"

D'Artagnan made a rather strangled noise that was neither one thing nor the other, then gave a groan of surrender and walked off, guessing that Aramis and Porthos would at least have stopped doing whatever the hell it was they'd been doing by now. He shuddered, feeling lost and confused and ever so slightly sickened.

Athos made his way to Porthos' room and wasn't entirely surprised to find it occupied.

"What's going on?" he asked, finding Aramis and Porthos in as much of a state as d'Artagnan had been. "Have you just had a row with d'Artagnan or something?"

"What did he say?" Aramis asked, wincing.

"Nothing. Well, he tried to stop me coming in. What happened?"

Porthos sank to the bed and put his head in his hands. "He saw us," he said in a muffled tone of disbelief. 

"Saw you - doing what, exactly?" Athos asked cautiously.

Aramis closed the door again, and picked up a small piece of iron from the floor. "Kissing each other," he sighed. "We thought the door was locked." He threw the bracket onto the table with a look of disgust.

Athos closed his eyes. "Oh God."

"Exactly." Aramis sat down next to Porthos on the bed and put his arm around him comfortingly.

"What do you think he'll do?" Porthos asked worriedly. "Will he tell people?"

Athos shook his head slowly. "I'd say not, given that he apparently tried to stop me finding out." He sighed. "Let me talk to him. He might listen to reason."

Porthos shook his head. "Athos you don't have to get involved. Right now he thinks it's just me and Aramis, let it stay that way for your sake. The kid worships you, you don't want to make him look at you the way he just looked at us." Porthos looked downcast, and Athos reached out to stroke his hair. Porthos took his hand, and kissed it. 

Aramis held Athos' gaze and nodded slowly. "Do what you must. But know that I agree with Porthos, you don't have to risk losing d'Artagnan's regard on our account. You know we would never ask that of you."

Athos gave them a sad smile. "I will try not to incriminate myself," he said softly. "But neither can I stand by and watch you bear his anger for something I too am guilty of."

Guessing d'Artagnan would have retreated to his quarters, Athos went to find him.

"Athos." D'Artagnan opened the door looking surprised and a little wary. "Come in."

"I won't stay long." Athos hesitated, wondering how best to phrase this. "I just wanted to speak with you. I understand you - had something of a shock, just now."

"They told you?" For a moment d'Artagnan looked openly startled, but as he took in Athos' expression, realisation dawned. "You knew," he said accusingly. "You knew?" Bewilderment passed across his face, then resignation. "Of course you knew," he concluded a little bitterly. "How could you not, where something concerns them. But you - you don't mind?"

"Why would I mind?" Athos asked mildly. "They are my dearest friends, how could I not be happy for them?"

D'Artagnan shook his head as if trying to clear it. "But - even you must admit - it's wrong. Athos, what they're doing - I mean, I assume, they are-?"

"Lovers?" Athos supplied, and d'Artagnan flinched. "Yes, they are." Athos bit back the urge to say 'we', but couldn't prevent himself adding, "and why, exactly, do you presume I should agree it's wrong?"

"Well it - just - is," d'Artagnan spluttered. "It's unnatural. Two men? Like that? It's a sin. It's illegal. And frankly, it's revolting. I mean I know they're your friends, but - "

"Your friends too," Athos interrupted quietly. "Or do you intend to forsake them completely over this, regardless of all they have been to you?"

D'Artagnan looked embarrassed, but stubborn. "Does it not worry you?" he asked in an undertone. "That they might be - you know?"

"Know what?" Athos sighed. He was beginning to regret this interview, and wished he'd left d'Artagnan to calm down a little first.

"Looking at you. In that way."

"What if they are?" Athos made an effort to sound neutral. "Looking never hurt anyone. Or do you imagine they would risk making advances to someone not of the same mind, when they already have each other?"

D'Artagnan stared at him in baffled distress, unable to comprehend how Athos could accept such a thing so readily. "It makes my skin crawl," he admitted. "That they can do such things, and here, of all places. It's indecent."

"They believed the door was locked," Athos said tightly, trying to control a rising anger at having to listen to his lovers being so maligned. "If you will invade people's privacy then perhaps you should accept the outcome."

"If the outcome is discovering people I trusted, people I have - _shared a bed_ with," d'Artagnan added in horrified realisation, "are so dangerously sick in the head, then I wish I had found out before."

Athos stared at him sadly. "Then I'm sorry," he said. "That our friendship must apparently part ways like this."

D'Artagnan looked alarmed. "Athos - I'm not holding any of this against you," he said quickly. "It's - admirable, I suppose, that you would support them so staunchly, even in this, although I confess I think it ill-judged."

Athos gave a quiet sigh. "I am many things, but a hypocrite is not one of them. If you would condemn them for their actions, then you must also condemn me."

"What are you saying?"

"That it is not only Aramis and Porthos who are lovers. In this, as in everything else, we are as one. The three of us are together, and have been for a very long time. And if that is something you are unable to accept, I can only apologise, and remove myself from your company."

D'Artagnan stared at him, shaken to the core. "Get out," he managed tightly. "Get out of my room. Get out!"

Athos left, resigned and heavy hearted, and slightly worried that he might have just made things worse, not only for himself but also for Aramis and Porthos. This feeling of unease was heightened when he saw d'Artagnan cross the courtyard a few moments later and head straight up the steps towards Treville's office.

He rejoined the others, looking solemn.

"Athos?" Aramis took one look at his face and guessed it wasn't good news. "He won't forgive us?"

Athos shook his head. "Unfortunately not." He paused. "Any of us."

Porthos groaned. "You didn't tell him?"

"I did."

"Athos you idiot," Porthos upbraided him gloomily. "What purpose does that serve?"

"It means I can at least look you both in the eye with good conscience," Athos murmured, then winced. "I just hope that it's not across the platform of a gallows."

"What do you mean?" Aramis demanded.

"I've just seen d'Artagnan headed for Treville's office," Athos said heavily. "I am not entirely sure what he means to tell him."

By common consent they all walked back out to the training yard and settled at the table there, keeping one eye rather nervously on Treville's door above.

After a short while it banged open and d'Artagnan came out. He gave a slight start when he saw them sitting there and stalked down the staircase without making eye contact, but then seemed to reconsider and came over.

"For the sake of the friendship I once imagined we had, I will keep your filthy secret," he hissed in an undertone. "On the condition that from now on you all keep well away from me. Are we clear?"

Before anyone could answer or protest, d'Artagnan had marched off. Athos was halfway to his feet intending to follow, but Treville appeared on the balcony and glared down at them.

"You three. My office. Now."

They exchanged a worried glance. D'Artagnan's promise didn't necessarily mean he hadn't already told Treville.

Inside, they lined up in front of Treville's desk with tense expressions. It wasn't the first time they'd stood here in the doghouse, but never before with such potentially serious consequences.

Treville glared at them one by one, finally coming to rest on Athos. "Does somebody want to tell me what's going on?" he asked icily.

Athos hesitated. "May we first know what has been said already?" he asked quietly.

Treville stared briefly at the ceiling, as if looking for strength. "D'Artagnan has requested to be removed with immediate effect from any duty rosters that would require him to work with any of you, and has asked not to be paired with you at any future time," Treville recited tightly. "He has refused to give me any good reason for this, saying only that if I declined his request, he would be forced to resign his commission."

Treville watched all three of them wince, and frowned at them. "If this is one of your stupid misdirections - "

"It isn't," Athos sighed. "I wish it was. No, we have - had a difference of opinion. I am sorry to hear that d'Artagnan feels he can no longer work with us. Believe me, it is more painful to us than you can imagine. It is not our choice, although perhaps to be fair, of our making." He glanced at Aramis and Porthos. "If you would prefer our resignations instead - "

"Oh don't be ridiculous," Treville snapped. "I don't want anyone's resignation. I want to bang your heads together, that's what I want. What was the cause of all this? Tell me it wasn't a damn woman," he added, looking narrowly at Aramis, as if wondering if he might have bedded Constance.

"I can say in all honesty sir, that it's not a woman," Athos said with a straight face, and despite the gravity of the situation Porthos had a coughing fit.

Treville glared at him. "Then what?"

Athos sighed. "I would rather not say," he admitted. "It is simply - something that d'Artagnan has come to learn about us, that he cannot accept."

Treville frowned. "Is it something that I would accept?" he enquired.

"Possibly not. I would prefer not to find out. Will you accept my word that it is nothing of any consequence outside of ourselves, and in no way affects our ability to do our jobs?"

Treville gave him a hard stare, then sighed, suspecting that the loss of d'Artagnan's friendship was a harder price for whatever they'd done than any punishment he could impose.

"Get out, the lot of you. Stop wasting my time."

They left, relieved but subdued. Of d'Artagnan there was no sign, and the three of them retreated to a tavern to console themselves with a much needed drink.

\--

They had hoped that as time went by, they would be reconciled. That d'Artagnan would come to forgive them, and if he could not be comfortable with the fact they were in love, then at least to accept it as an unpalatable fact of life. That they would be at the very least on speaking terms with each other.

To their frustration and eventual resigned sadness, none of this proved to be the case. D'Artagnan resolutely kept his distance, refusing to even acknowledge their existence. He took up with other friends, and spent very little of his downtime around the garrison.

It was a cause of much regret and self-recrimination, especially on the part of Porthos and Aramis who felt responsible for the whole thing despite Athos' reassurances to the contrary. But ultimately life went on; they still had each other and the pain of it gradually faded, although never quite went away. 

The cause of the unexpected division between the four friends had been the subject of much speculation, although d'Artagnan kept his word and never told anyone else his reasons. For their part, Athos, Aramis and Porthos became a lot more conscientious about checking doors were firmly bolted, and even went as far as to rent a suite of rooms outside the garrison to ensure added privacy.

The thing that took everyone's minds off it was the unexpected announcement that they were now at war with Spain. In very short order the entire regiment was shipped out to the border, and plunged into long hard days of bloody hand to hand fighting.

Even here d'Artagnan contrived to avoid their company, and other than the occasional glimpse of him across the campsite, they had very little contact. They were resigned to it now, and no longer made an effort to bridge the divide. D'Artagnan had made it eminently clear he wanted nothing more to do with them, and they would abide by his choice.

The days of fighting were relentless, rest and food to be snatched where possible. Athos, Aramis and Porthos were sitting around a campfire one evening, eating a scant supper and too tired to even make conversation, when a musketeer named Georges ran up, his uniform dishevelled and face streaked with blood.

"Aramis," he panted. "Will you come? It's d'Artagnan, he's badly wounded, and the surgeons are all busy. I'm afraid he will lose his arm if something is not done quickly."

Aramis immediately got to his feet without a word. Porthos reached out and grabbed his wrist, frowning.

Aramis just looked at him. "What would you have me do?" he asked quietly, and Porthos dropped his hand with a reluctant nod.

It was nearly three hours before Aramis returned, exhausted and with bloody cuffs. He sank down onto his camp bed with a sigh, acknowledging the silently questioning eyes on him.

"He'll be alright now, I think," Aramis sighed. "He'll keep the arm anyway, and God willing should retain the full use of it."

"Did he thank you?" Porthos growled.

Aramis smiled serenely. "I didn't do it for thanks."

"Meaning he didn't."

"He was unconscious," Aramis told him. "He didn't have a chance." He sighed. "I - asked them not to tell him it was me that helped."

"Why?" Athos looked surprised. 

"Because I strongly suspect he would hate the idea of me touching his half-naked body," Aramis said calmly. 

"Oh come on," Athos protested. "You probably saved his life!"

"Even so. I would rather not risk the confrontation," Aramis admitted, peeling off his soiled shirt in disgust and lying back with a tired sigh. After a moment they both came to join him.

"Thank you for helping him," Athos said quietly, putting his arms around Aramis and resting his head on his shoulder. 

"Yeah," Porthos conceded gruffly. "You're a better man than me."

Aramis leaned over and kissed him. "You'd have done exactly the same in my place, and don't pretend you wouldn't" he said. 

Porthos gave a reluctant grin. "Maybe."

"Definitely," Athos put in, and kissed him too.

\--

Three days later they were sitting at a trestle table making a hasty breakfast and trying to stop the wind blowing everything over, when Porthos suddenly sat up and nudged Athos and Aramis on either side of him.

They looked up to see what had caught his attention and were surprised to see d'Artagnan walking towards them, his arm in a sling and looking pale but determined.

"Aramis." He came to a halt in front of the table, looking awkward. "They told me that it was you who sewed me up." 

Aramis gave a wary nod. "I asked them not to tell you," he muttered. "I wasn't sure you'd like it."

"They told me that too." D'Artagnan stared at the ground for a moment, then met his eyes. "I came to say thank you. You saved my arm, and probably my life. And I hope I am never so ungrateful a man as to refuse to give thanks where it's due. So - thank you, for what you did, whether you felt I deserved it or not."

"Everyone deserves to live," Aramis said softly. "And you are very welcome." He took a chance. "Will you join us for breakfast?" he offered. But d'Artagnan took a step backwards as sharply as if Aramis had offered to kiss him. 

"No, thank you. Nothing else has changed," he said stiffly. "This needed to be said, that's all." He gave a brusque nod to Athos and Porthos, then turned and marched off as quickly as the muddy ground would let him.

"Well," Aramis said quietly, "I didn't expect that."

Athos smiled. "Maybe not all is as lost as we first feared," he murmured.

\--

Two months passed. The days became a blur of blood and mud and hunger and exhaustion. They struggled not to fall asleep during the day but drank to be able to sleep at night, and the mechanical action of killing became nothing but the numb repetitive ache of muscle memory.

All around them comrades lost life and limb, but for a while their skill and fierce protection of each other on the battlefield meant that Athos, Porthos and Aramis escaped relatively unscathed. They counted their blessings, whilst silently knowing it was only a matter of time and the sheer stacked odds against them before one of them was seriously wounded. 

It should have been Porthos. On the roll-call of fate, his name was clearly up next, and the Spanish solider who reared up out of nowhere and made to shoot him in the back would have killed him instantly if Athos hadn't thrown himself between them and taken the ball in his shoulder.

Porthos had bludgeoned the soldier to death with his own empty musket and carried Athos two miles back to camp, bellowing all the way for someone to find Aramis, not trusting Athos' life to anyone else.

Now they were alone in their tent, the beds cleared out of the way and a sturdy table carried in. Athos was laid out on it, unconscious and still bleeding, and Aramis spread out the tools of his surgeon's kit, clearing his mind and praying for the grace to save him.

Porthos, pacing tightly in the cramped space and waiting to be given instructions by Aramis, became aware there was someone hovering in the entrance. He shoved the tent flap back, and discovered to his surprise it was d'Artagnan.

"What do you want?" Porthos demanded gruffly.

D'Artagnan looked awkward. "I heard that Athos was wounded," he said. "I came to see - is he alright?"

Porthos glared at him. "No. He's been shot. Aramis is with him." He swallowed, fighting down the guilt and misery from the knowledge Athos had been hurt protecting him. Right now, he needed to be strong.

D'Artagnan nodded, looking shaken. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked meekly.

Porthos made a nose of derisive disbelief. "Didn't care much for him when he was healthy, did you?" he asked. "Maybe if you'd shown a bit of solidarity then, we'd have been fighting together, and Athos wouldn't have - wouldn't be - " he broke off, too upset to continue.

"I'm sorry," d'Artagnan said miserably. "I never wanted harm to come to him - to any of you. Please, can I see him?"

Porthos put out an arm to bar his way. "If I let you in," he said in a low, tight voice, "you bear in mind that that's the man I love on that table - that Aramis and I both love. I'm not going to stand you sneering at us at a time like this." 

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I won't. I swear. I just want to help."

Porthos grunted and finally let him enter. Aramis looked up in surprise.

"What's he doing here?"

"Wants to help," Porthos told him with a shrug.

Aramis gave d'Artagnan a hard stare, looking him up and down. "Wash your hands," was all he said, turning his attention back to Athos.

D'Artagnan did as he was told, joining Aramis at the table and immediately being handed a reel of thread and a small knife. "Hold those," Aramis ordered. "Cut me off a length, about as long as your forearm."

Porthos was now opposite them, keeping pressure on the wound, and d'Artagnan hurried to obey. Athos was so still and pale that it frightened him, and it was only the fact that red blood was bubbling out of him as he tried to breathe that let d'Artagnan know he was still alive.

It was a long, painstaking process but eventually Athos was all sewn up and cleaned down, and wrapped in warm blankets. "We'll leave him on the table for now," Aramis sighed. "It's best not to move him, I think. At least until he wakes up." 

"Is there nothing else we can do?" d'Artagnan asked in a small voice. It hadn't been so bad during the earlier frenzy of activity, but standing here in the quiet looking down at the still unconscious Athos made him feel uncomfortably helpless.

"Pray," suggested Aramis. "I've done all I can. It's in God's hands now."

To his surprise d'Artagnan took him at his word and dropped to his knees at the foot of the operating table, closing his eyes and clasping his hands like a small child. His lips moved soundlessly, and Aramis exchanged an exhausted and emotional look with Porthos.

Without conferring they took seats on either side of the table and each held one of Athos' hands, prepared to sit in silent vigil for as long as it took for Athos to come round and refusing to entertain the thought that he might not.

When d'Artagnan's fervent and heartfelt prayers has run their course he sat unobtrusively back against the tent pole, not liking to intrude on the intimate tableau presented by the three men but not wanting to leave either. 

He watched Aramis and Porthos watching Athos, saw the way they were clearly holding back tears but at the same time giving strength to each other, and he felt ashamed. That he could ever have accused them of anything worse than love seemed a sick treachery now, and he silently begged for the chance to tell Athos he was sorry.

After what felt like hours, Athos finally stirred back into consciousness, and blinked up at the two men leaning anxiously over him.

He smiled weakly. "If I'm dead, angels are a lot hairier than I was expecting."

Aramis gave a choked laugh of relief, and Porthos dashed a rogue tear away from his cheek.

"Daft beggar," Porthos said thickly. "Stop lying around and get back to work." He squeezed Athos' hand tightly, and gave him a watery smile as he felt Athos squeeze back.

"Thank you," Aramis whispered. 

Athos frowned fuzzily. "What for?"

"Not dying." Aramis leaned over and kissed Athos gently on the mouth, and Porthos promptly did the same.

"I'm guessing I have you to thank for that," Athos murmured, trying to move and wincing. 

"We had help," Aramis smiled. "There's someone else here to see you."

Given that they'd both just openly kissed him, Athos raised an eyebrow at that, until Aramis moved back so that d'Artagnan could move up to Athos' side.

"I'm sorry," d'Artagnan blurted. "For everything. I've been a fool. And I'm sorry it took you nearly dying to make me see that."

"You're forgiven," Athos said softly. "And if the alternative was me actually dying, I'm just glad you went with the first option."

D'Artagnan gave a guilty laugh, and Aramis slapped him on the back. "Is it all of us you've decided you can stand, or only Athos?" he asked jovially, and d'Artagnan went bright red. 

"I'm sorry," he said again, contritely. "I've behaved like the worst kind of prig. I just honestly couldn't understand how you could consider doing what you were doing."

"And now?" Porthos asked warily.

"And now I can see what you all mean to each other," d'Artagnan said guiltily. "How much you love each other. When you were watching over Athos I realised how I would feel if I lost Constance, and I suppose it finally sank in that there's no difference."

"Except Constance wouldn't have been daft enough to get herself shot in the first place," Aramis grinned. Athos snorted, and then winced.

"Ow. Don't make me laugh."

Porthos was still holding Athos' hand. "I didn't thank you yet," he said quietly. "You saved my life with what you did, you mad reckless bastard."

"Good." Athos lifted Porthos' hand to his lips and kissed it. "And I would do it again."

"I should probably go," d'Artagnan murmured. "Give you some privacy."

The others exchanged glances.

"Stay, if you wish," Athos said. 

"As long as it doesn't bother you," Porthos added pointedly, of the three of them still the least inclined to forgive d'Artagnan quite so easily. "Seeing us together."

"Would you rather I went?" d'Artagnan asked him openly. "The last thing I want now is to make you uncomfortable, and I understand you may not want me here. I've hardly earned it, after the way I've behaved." 

Porthos sighed. "Behaved better than some would have I suppose," he allowed grudgingly. "Kept your trap shut, at least."

"I think Porthos is saying yes, please stay, he's missed you," Aramis translated with a knowing smirk.

Porthos aimed a punch at him, but finally smiled. "Yeah, maybe." He nodded to d'Artagnan. "You did good, earlier. You came through. Stick around, if you want."

"How about I go and find us a bottle of wine?" d'Artagnan offered, and this was met with considerable enthusiasm. 

When he'd gone, they looked at each other. 

"Worth getting shot, I reckon," Athos said quietly. 

"We could just have shot some sense into him instead," Porthos suggested and Athos laughed, then groaned as his stitches pulled again.

"You lie still," Aramis ordered. "And don't think you're getting any wine either."

"That's not fair," Athos complained at once. "I'm the one who got shot here. I deserve a drink."

"How about a kiss instead?" Aramis offered, and Athos looked up at him consideringly.

"No. Wine. Definitely wine," he deadpanned, before breaking into a smile as they both kissed him furiously anyway.

\--


End file.
